Cibrar y of  Che  theological  Seminary 

PRINCETON  • NEW  JERSEY 

V//  VNV 

PRESENTED  BY 

Presbyterian  Church  in  the  U.S.A. 
Department  of  History 

Fresh.  fcS  a wl  Pub.  Coll. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/ramkrishnapuntboOOunse 


7*4 : r 


: 


t 


' ' 


Ram  Krishna-punt, 


THE  BOY  OF  BENGAL, 


PHILADELPHIA : 

PRESBYTERIAN  PUBLICATION  COMMITTEE, 

1334  CHESTNUT  STREET. 

NEW  YORK  : A.  D.  P.  RANDOLPH,  770  BROADWAY. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1866,  by 

WM,  L.  IIILDEBURN,  Treasurer, 
in  trust  for  the 

PRESBYTERIAN  PUBLICATION  COMMITTEE, 

In  the  Clerk’s  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


Westcott  & Thomson, 
Stereotypers, 

PHILADELPHIA. 


PREFACE. 


oXK° 


N the  story  of  Ram  Krishna-punt  our 
young  readers  will  have  a glimpse  of  a 
life  purely  Hindoo.  If  it  end  more  hap- 
pily than  the  life  of  the  Hindoo  ordinarily 
ends,  it  may  lead  to  a desire  on  their 
part  to  confer  like  happiness  on  the  coun- 
trymen of  our  Bengalee  boy.  The  interest  of  the  story  is 
much  enhanced  by  the  truthful  illustrations,  designed  by 
W.  L.  Sheppard,  and  engraved  by  Yan  Ingen  and  Snyder. 


5 


RAM  KRISHNA- PUNT, 

THE  BOY  OF  BENGAL 


I 

HE  famine  was  sore  in  tlie  land.  From 
north  to  south,  from  east  to  west,  Bengal, 
in  all  its  wide  borders,  was  filled  with 
sorrow  and  death.  Hunger  and  starva- 
tion ruled  in  village  and  in  city.  Famine- 
stricken  parents  looked  in  anguish  upon 
their  children  crying  to  them  for  bread.  From  the 
country  they  fled  to  the  towns.  Many  perished  by  the 
roadside ; others  reached  the  city,  to  swell  its  tide  of  want 
and  woe.  Fever  and  cholera  followed  in  the  wake  of 
famine,  and  death  reigned  in  town,  in  village  and  in 

7 


RAM  KRISHNA-PUNT. 


liamlet.  The  vultures  and  the  jackals  alone  rejoiced,  for 
few  of  the  dead  received  burial  or  were  borne  to  the 
funeral  pile. 

Whither  shall  the  poor  Bengalees  turn  for  help?  They 
cry  to  their  gods.  But  their  gods  are  stocks  and  stones. 
The  true  God,  who  sendeth  rain  from  heaven  and  fruitful 
seasons,  they  do  not  know.  Alas,  for  sorrowful  and  dark 
Bengal!  Would  that  she  knew  the  Lord  of  heaven  and 
earth,  the  refuge  of  the  sorrowing,  the  poor  and  the 
needy ! 

“What  do  we  here?”  cried  the  Brahmin,  Mohun-Ban- 
erjee,  to  his  weeping  wife.'  “Shall  we  sit  still  and  die? 

i 

Does  not  the  vulture  fly  afar  for  food  for  its  young?  Does 
not  the  jackal  roam  through  a province  for  its  prey? 
And  shall  we  sit  still  and  eat  emptiness?” 

“But  whither  shall  we  go,  my  lord?”  said  the  Brah- 
min’s wife.  “The  vulture  flies  afar,  but  he  is  borne  on 
the  wings  of  the  wind;  the  jackal  roams  the  jungle,  but 

he  fattens  upon  carrion.  We  are  weak  and  faint,  and 

8 


RAM  KRISHNA-PUNT. 


shall  die  by  the  way.  Can  we  eat  dirt?  Here  let  us  die, 
and  our  kindred  will  cast  our  bodies  into  the  holy 
Ganges,  and  it  will  be  well  with  us.  Shall  we  not  enter 
the  heaven  of  Indra  and  behold  the  gods?  Hay,  my  lord, 
here  let  us  die.” 

“Cowardly  woman!  will  you  not  make  an  effort  for 
life?  If  you  care  not  for  your  own  life,  look  upon  your 
children.  Shall  we  suffer  them  to  starve  before  our  eyes? 
Arise!  give  me  your  jewels;  I will  take  them  to  the 
bazaar  and  exchange  them  for  rice,  and  then  we  will 
journey  to  some  better  land.  God’s  curse  is  upon  Bengal. 
Will  the  gods  bless  a people  who  suffer  lieaven-born 
Brahmins  to  die  of  want?  Let  us  be  gone.” 

And  they  went, — Mohun-Banerjee,  the  Brahmin  priest, 
and  his  wife,  Lachmy,  and  their  three  little  ones,  Vithava, 
Amana  and  Ram  Krishna-punt.  Northwestward  was  their 
way.  But  their  way  was  long — long  and  weary  and  sad. 
Hungry  and  foot-sore  were  the  little  ones,  and  they  cried 
to  their  mother  for  food  and  rest.  The  mother  said  not  a 

9 


RAM  KRISHNA-PUNT. 


word ; lier  heart  was  dead  within  her ; it  was  as  a stone, 
and  she  wept  not  nor  answered  to  their  cries.  Their  food 
was  gone  and  their  strength  was  spent.  Yet  the  father 
strode  on.  He  had  filled  his  craving  stomach  and  checked 
his  hunger  with  green  leaves  from  the  trees;  but  his  hope 
had  faded,  and  despair  alone  nerved  him.  Fiercer  glowed 
the  sun  above  them;  the  air  blew  as  a blast  from  a 
furnace,  so  dry  and  so  hot  was  it,  and  the  clouds  of  dust 
that  swept  the  arid  plain  suffocated  them.  Even  the 
leaves  of  the  margosa-tree,  beneath  which  they  cast  them- 
selves in  their  weariness,  wilted  and  hung  limp  upon  the 
twigs.  Higher  and  stronger  the  sun  marched  in  fiery 
power  through  the  heavens,  but  weaker  and  fainter  grew 
the  sad  group  that  lay  panting  for  breath  beneath  the 
green  margosa — the  Brahmin,  and  his  wife  and  the  three 
little  ones. 

The  sun  reached  his  noonday  height  and  slowly  turned 

toward  his  setting.  Kindly  night  cast  a veil  over  the 

scene,  and  when  the  morning  broke  Mohun-Banerjee  lay 

10 


RAM  KRISHNA-PUNT. 


dead  at  the  foot  of  the  tree;  for,  swift  and  sure  as  the 
tiger’s  leap,  the  cholera  had  made  him  its  victim.  The 
mother  lay  dead  not  far  away.  The  drooping  branches 
of  the  margosa  hung  in  sorrow  about  her;  every  leaf 
would  have  wept  had  it  been  permitted  them  to  shed 
tears,  for  two  little  babes  were  breathing  out  their  lives 
at  her  feet.  Of  the  Brahmin’s  house  but  one  was  left 
alive.  The  young  Bam  Krishna-punt,  his  father’s  pet 
boy,  for  whom  he  had  reserved  the  last  meal  of  food, 
still  lived. 

The  passers-by  turned  cold  glances  upon  this  pitiful 
scene.  It  was  not  a strange  scene  to  them,  for  the 
famine  had  strewn  the  roads  with  the  dying  and  the 
dead.  Nor  do  heathen  Hindoos  know  the  Christian  ten- 
derness that  loves  strangers  for  Christ’s  sake.  Hard  is 
the  heart  of  the  heathen  and  cold  his  eye.  Stones  might 
cry  out  in  grief,  the  hot  heavens  might  weep  at  the 
piteous  sight,  but  the  Hindoo  looked  and  passed  on. 

Night  is  drawing  on,  and  the  pariah-dogs  begin  to 
2 11 


RAM  KRISIINA-PUNT. 


cluster  around  the  dead  Mohun-Banerjee,  Lachmy,  his 
wife,  and  the  babes,  Vithava  and  Amana.  Their  short, 
sharp  yelps  affright  the  little  boy,  and  he  moves  a short 
distance  away  from  his  dead.  But  he  is  not  to  perish 
with  them.  As  the  sun  goes  down  there  comes  near  one 
with  some  of  the  instincts  of  humanity.  Like  the  now 
silent  Mohun-Banerjee,  the  aged  Gopee-nath  was  of  the 
Brahmin  caste,  and  the  pitiful  state  of  the  little  Bam 
Krishna-punt  touched  the  old  Brahmin’s  heart. 

“Sad  is  thy  lot,  child  of  a holy  stock!”  he  said.  “And 
will  these  base-born  Soodras,  and  these  accursed  Pariahs 
and  Mahars  suffer  thee  to  starve  beside  thy  dead  parents? 
Will  they  leave  thee  to  be  devoured  by  filthy  dogs?  Out 
upon  their  cruelty!”  Then  he  took  the  child  by  the  hand 
and  said:  “Come,  thou,  with  me;  to  me  no  son  has  been 
given  by  the  gods;  thou  shalt  be  my  son,  and  I will  be 
to  thee  a father.”  And  Gopee-nath  took  him  and  shared 
with  him  his  mat,  his  rice  and  his  curry. 


12 


II. 

ENEATH  the  banyan-tree,  with  its  wide- 
spreading  branches,  bows  the  little  Earn 
Krishna-pont  before  his  idol-god.  Be- 
side him  stands  the  old  priest,  Gopee- 
nath,  his  guardian  and  protector.  The 
aged  devotee,  with  shaven  head  and  the 
mark  of  his  god  upon  forehead,  arms  and  breast,  tinkles 
his  little  bell,  and  casts  fruits  and  flowers  at  the  feet 
of  the  stupid  image  that  sits  ever  motionless  and  voice- 
less at  the  banyan’s  roots. 

Little  cares  the  elephant-headed  Ganesha  for  the  tink- 
ling bell  of  the  old  man,  for  his  flowers  or  fruits.  Little 
cares  he  for  the  prayers  of  the  boy.  He  smells  no  fra- 

15 


RAM  KRISHNA-PUNT. 


grance  when  the  white  jasmine  flower  lies  at  his  feet;  he 
hears  no  chanted  song  of  praise.  The  green  parrots  that 
flit  amid  the  boughs  of  the  tree,  and  the  monkeys  that 
sport  on  its  branches  gaze  and  chatter;  but  Ganesha  has 
ears  and  hears  not;  he  has  eyes  and  sees  not. 

Yet  to  the  little  Earn  Krishna-punt  it  seemed  not  so. 
To  his  childish  eyes  how  wonderful  a being  was  this  ugly 
stone;  with  what  strange  stories  did  the  old  man  fill  his 
mind.  Eagerly  did  he  listen  whilst  the  lying  Gopee-nath 
told  the  country  people,  who  came  with  offerings  to  the 
god,  of  its  brave  deeds, — how  it  eat  the  rice  laid  before 
it;  how  it  drank  in  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers;  how  it 
spoke  to  him  by  night,  when  all  were  asleep  but  the 
jackal  and  the  owls;  how  it  threatened  to  send  illness, 
poverty  and  famine  to  the  wicked  families  that  gave  it 
no  rice,  no  bananas,  no  spices,  no  sugar,  no  cloth. 

The  little  Earn  Krishna-punt  thought  it  strange  that 

Ganesha  never  spoke  or  eat  when  he  was  by.  But  as 

the  rice  and  salt,  the  sugar  and  fruits  brought  by  the 

16 


RAM  KRISHNA-PUNT. 


villagers  fed  him  and  his  old  protector,  he  did  not  contra- 
dict, even  if  he  doubted  these  wonderful  stories  of  the 
deeds  of  the  idol.  And  why  should  he  quarrel  with  the 
old  man,  his  guardian  and  friend? 

Years  passed  by,  and  gave  the  boy  strength  and  activ- 
ity. But  still  he  and  the  old  man  lived  in  the  grove, 
content  to  be  fed  and  clad  in  their  simple  way  by  the 
gifts  of  the  country  folk  around  to  the  brave  Ganesha, 
the  wise,  four-armed  god  with  the  elephant-head.  Bam 
Krishna-punt  waited  upon  the  old  Brahmin,  brought  him 
water  from  the  river,  gathered  sticks  % from  the  grove, 
made  his  fire,  boiled  his  rice  and  cooked  his  curry.  It 
was  a quiet  life,  but  the  boy  knew  nothing  beyond  it. 
To  him  the  world  was  a narrow  space,  for  his  early  home 
and  history  had  faded  from  his  memory,  and  little  did 
he  know  of  what  was  beyond  his  grove. 

But  whilst  coming  years  gave  strength  to  Ram  Krishna- 
punt,  they  took  it  from  the  old  devotee.  Awaking,  one 
morning,  the  boy  found  Gopee-nath  stiff  and  cold  on  the 


RAM  KRISHNA-PUNT. 


ground.  The  gray-haired  Brahmin  was  still  in  death. 
Loud  were  the  boy’s  cries  and  shrieks;  but  the  only 
answer  came  from  the  tree  above  his  head,  in  the  chatter 
of  the  monkeys  and  the  screams  of  the  parrots. 

The  sun  rose  high  and  shined  hot  upon  the  dead  priest 
and  the  lonely  boy.  At  length,  taking  the  old  man’s 
brass  pot,  the  boy  fled  from  the  grove,  leaving  the  corpse 
to  the  jackals  and  vultures  that  already  scented  their 
prey. 


18 


III. 

NCE  more  an  orphan,  sacl,  aimless  and 
friendless,  the  hoy  journeyed,  he  knew 
not  whither.  As  it  happened,  he  took 
the  road  to  the  river,  and  at  sundown  • 
drew  near  to  its  banks,  the  banks  of 
the  sacred  Ganges.  Slowly  he  walked 
beside  its  stream.  In  the  cummerbund  that  encircled 
his  waist  he  had  placed  a few  dried  cakes,  but  these  did 
not  satisfy  his  hunger.  He  wondered  where  he  should 
find  a home  and  food.  The  world  was  all  strange  to  him. 
Not  far  from  the  river’s  brink,  and  near  a clump  of  bam- 
boos and  reeds,  a group  of  Brahmins,  the  priestly  caste 
of  Hindoostan,  were  engaged  in  preparing  their  evening 
meal  of  rice  and  curry.  Some  blew  the  fires,  whilst  others 

19 


RAM  KRISHNA-PUNT. 


cleaned  the  rice  and  prepared  the  curry-stuffs.  One  of 
the  company  lay  asleep  upon  the  ground,  a little  apart 
from  the  group.  As  Ram  Krishna-punt  drew  near,  a 
venomous  serpent,  the  cobra  di  capella,  glided  from  the 
reeds.  Rearing  its  head  the  cobra  was  about  to  dart  at 
the  sleeping  Brahmin  and  to  plant  in  his  breast  its  fangs, 
whose  wound  were  death.  Quick  as  thought  the  boy 
'snatched  a club  from  the  ground,  sprang  forward,  and, 
before  the  snake  could  uncoil  its  folds,  bravely  struck  it 
on  the  head,  and  with  blow  upon  blow  laid  it  dead  beside 
the  Brahmin. 

The  priest,  now  wide  awake,  trembled  with  horror  at 
so  near  and  terrible  a danger.  “Praises  to  the  great 
Vishnoo,  lord  of  life  and  preserver  of  days!”  he  cried. 
“And  to  you,  too,  my  little  brother!  It  was  a brave, 
straight  blow  you  struck.  May  the  gods  forgive  you  for 

i 

slaying  the  holy  serpent.  But  was  it  not  fated  that  it 
should  die?  How  came  you  here,  little  brother,  in  this 
happy  hour?” 


20 


I 


RAM  KRISHNA-PUNT. 


The  boy  told  his  story — that  he  was  a Brahmin  by 
birth,  but  orphaned,  homeless  and  friendless,  wandering, 
he  knew  not  whither,  now  that  Gopee-nath  was  dead  in 
the  grove. 

“ Come  with  me,  boy,  and  you  shall  eat  of  my  rice  and 
help  me  in  the  care  of  the  gods,”  said  the  Brahmin. 
“Are  we  not  brothers,  both  of  us  sprung  from  the  mouth 
of  Maha-Brahm,  the  lord  of  all?” 

Little  urging  did  the  boy  need.  Homeless  and  friend- 
less, he  gladly  became  the  follower  of  his  new  protector, 
and  Ram  Krishna-punt  was  now  under  the  wing  of  the 
Brahmin,  Narayana,  priest  of  the  temple  of  Vishnoo,  near 
Calcutta. 

Narayana  had  been  on  a pilgrimage  to  the  holy  places 
upon  the  upper  Ganges,  even  to  its  source,  where  it 
bursts  from  the  rocks  of  the  icy  Himalaya,  and  was  now 
upon  his  way  homeward  down  the  river.  The  boat  of  the 
pilgrims  lay  moored  to  the  bank  whilst  they  cooked  and 
eat  their  evening  meal.  This  done  they  embarked  again 

3 23 


RAM  KRISHNA-PUNT. 


and  continued  tlieir  voyage,  under  the  soft  light  of  the 
moon,  down  the  glancing,  rippling  river.  Slowly  they 
made  their  journey  in  the  budgerow,  (boat,)  sometimes 
floating  with  the  stream,  sometimes  using  a sail,  and  at 
times  thrusting  with  a pole  their  boat  against  a head 
wind. 

To  Ram  Krishna-punt  this  was  a delightful  change 
from  his  quiet  life  in  the  grove,  where  the  same  objects 
met  his  eyes  from  month  to  month  and  from  year  to 
year.  The  world  grew  larger  to  him  as  he  sailed  down 
the  great  river  of  Bengal.  He  never  tired  of  standing  in 
the  bow  of  the  boat  and  looking  out  upon  the  country; 
the  hills  filled  him  with  wonder  and  the  wide  plains  with 
joy.  At  times  he  landed  and  ran  up  to  the  towns  and 
through  their  streets,  whilst  the  budgerow  lay  moored  to 
the  river’s  bank.  He  gazed  with  amazement  at  the  great 
temples  of  the  gods,  at  the  houses  of  the  rich  baboos  and 
the  palaces  of  rajahs.  But,  above  all,  did  he  delight  to 
accompany  his  new  guardian  when  he  visited  the  bazaars 

24 


RAM  KRISHNA-PUNT. 


to  purchase  rice,  and  pepper,  and  turmeric  and  ghee  for 
the  voyagers.  The  long  rows  of  little  shops  that  lined  the 
street,  the  crowd  that  filled  it,  the  bustle  and  clatter  and 
noise  of  buyers  and  sellers,  the  confusion  when  the  armed 
servants  of  some  great  man  made  a way  through  the 
thronging  crowd  for  their  lord,  all  were  so  new  to  him 
that  he  was  ready  to  think  a bazaar  the  happiest  spot  in 
the  world. 

One  day  when  they  had  stopped  at  a great  city  to 
procure  supplies,  Ram  Krishna-punt  had  the  joy  of  meet- 
ing some  of  those  white-faced  sahibs,  (lords,)  of  whom  he 
had  heard.  He  gazed  with  a feeling  of  awe  upon  these 
rulers  of  the  land,  the  warlike  conquerors  not  only  of 
Bengal  but  of  India — the  proud  Englishmen.  Narayana 
laughed  at  his  open  eyes  and  mouth,  his  wonder  at  all 
he  saw  and  heard,  but  the  boy  gazed  and  wondered  still. 


25 


IV. 

PON  the  banks  of  the  Ganges,  above  the 

great  city  of  Calcutta,  stood  the  temple 

of  Vishnoo,  at  whose  altar  the  priest  Nar- 

ayana  served;  and  here,  in  one  of  its 

stone  galleries,  was  the  new  home  of  Earn 

Krishna-punt. 

If,  under  the  care  and  teaching  of  his  old  protector  in 

the  grove,  the  lad  had  learned  only  deceit  and  fraud,  still 

worse  were  the  lessons  taught  him  in  this  new  abode 

of  idolatry.  The  lies  of  his  former  master  were  trifles 

compared  with  the  vileness  that  filled  this  temple  of 

Vishnoo.  All  that  was  bad,  Earn  Krishna-punt  soon 

learned.  By  day,  when  food  was  plenty,  he  sat  with  the 

priests,  chewing  pawn,  smoking  his  hookah,  eating  sweet- 

26 


RAM  KRISIINA-PUNT. 


meats  and  listening  to  tlieir  vile  talk.  Or,  if  food  were 
scarce,  lie  took  his  brazen  pot,  and,  going  through  the 
town,  sang  the  praises  of  Yishnoo  and  demanded  contri- 
butions for  the  god.  If  gifts  were  refused,  he  and  his 
companions  would  pour  out  curses  and  imprecations,  call- 
ing down  upon  the  refusers  the  wrath  of  the  god,  until 
the  terrified  villagers  gladly  paid  them  to  go  with  their 
songs  and  curses  to  their  neighbors.  Thus  they  went 
from  house  to  house,  and  always  came  to  the  temple  well 
laden  with  raw  rice,  curry-stuffs  and  copper-pice,  and 
sometimes  with  silver  rupees  or  a golden  pagoda. 

At  certain  seasons  the  poor  idolaters  flocked  in  great 

4 

numbers  to  the  temple.  This  was  a harvest  season  to 
Narayana  and  his  brother  priests.  The  pilgrims  could 
not  get  a sight  at  the  god  without  making  offerings  at 
the  temple-gate.  Here  sat  the  young  Ram  Krishna-punt, 
now  grown  to  manhood,  with  flowers,  fruits,  cocoanuts, 
camphor  and  other  things  demanded  by  the  god,  for  sale. 

Thronging,  crowding  and  pressing,  the  worshipers  came, 

27 


RAM  KRISHNA-PUNT. 


and  were  forced  into  the  narrow  entrance-way,  where 
Ram  Krishna-punt  sat  with  his  store,  supported  by  musi- 
cians with  tom-toms,  horns  and  cymbals.  Having  made 
their  purchases,  and  at  no  cheap  rate,  you  may  be  sure, 
the  crowd  behind  forcing  them  on  before  they  could  get 
their  change,  the  worshipers  reached  the  gate  of  entrance 
to  the  temple.  Passing  through,  they  handed  their  gifts 
to  the  attending  Brahmins,  and  strove  to  catch  a glimpse 
of  the  wretched  stone  which  they  worshiped  as  a God. 

But  little  satisfaction  did  they  have.  In  the  close,  hot, 
reeking  space,  jammed  with  idolatrous  devotees,  the  air 
was  dim  with  the  fumes  of  incense,  and  the  god  scarce 
visible,  as  he  sat  wrapped  in  silks  and  cloth  of  gold.  The 
offerings  were  sent  back  to  Ram  Krishna-punt’ s bazaar 
and  sold  over  and  over  again,  as  long  as  they  and  the 
festival  lasted.  The  piety  of  the  priests  was  not  for 
naught. 

One  year  there  came  a rich  begum,  a Hindoo  princess, 

to  fulfill  a solemn  vow.  She  had  promised  to  give  the 

28 


RAM  KRISHNA-PUNT. 


god  two  diamond  eyes,  of  untold  value,  diamonds  from 
the  mines  of  Golconda,  if  lie  would  restore  her  only  son  to 
health.  Her  son  regained  his  health,  and  the  begum 
brought  the  diamonds  and  had  them  set  for  eyes  into  the 
lord  Vishnoo’s  head. 

Now  Ram  Krishna-punt  had  been  no  dull  scholar  in 
this  school  of  covetousness,  lying  and  theft.  His  mind 
dwelt  upon  these  diamond  eyes;  he  coveted  them;  he 
determined  to  have  them  and  to  go  into  a far  country  and 
live  at  ease.  Night  and  day  the  diamonds  glistened  and 
sparkled  before  his  mind.  Waking  and  sleeping,  they 
were  the  object  of  his  desire.  The  command,  “Thou  shalt 
not  covet,”  he  had  never  heard,  and  the  law  that  was 
written  on  his  heart  he  disregarded.  He  knew  that  the 
diamonds  were  not  his,  yet  to  have  them  he  resolved. 

But  how  shall  he  get  them?  Hard  by  the  idol  a lamp 
burns  day  and  night;  near  it,  on  his  mat,  sleeps  Nara- 
yana,  the  priest.  At  midnight,  with  stealthy  tread,  a 
form  creeps  toward  the  sacred  shrine  of  Vishnoo.  The 

29 


RAM  KRISHNA-PUNT. 


lamp  is  burning  dim  and  all  is  still.  The  dull  light  is 
reflected  from  the  idol’s  eyes,  and  its  rays  fall  upon  the 
sleeping  priest.  Nearer  and  nearer  creeps  the  youth. 
Narayana  sleeps  soundly.  No!  he  stirs;  and,  as  Earn 
Krishna-punt  steps  past  him,  suddenly  wakes  and  starts 
up  to  seize  the  unknown  intruder.  The  young  man  grap- 
ples with  the  priest.  They  wrestle  and  fall.  The  priest’s 
head  strikes  heavily  upon  the  stone  floor.  He  groans 
once,  and  then  all  is  still  again  within  the  abode  of  idol- 
atry. The  youth  quickly  disengages  himself  from  the 
relaxing  arms  of  the  stunned  and  senseless  Narayana, 
and  hurrying  to  the  idol  plucks  its  coveted  eyes  from 
their  sockets.  Swiftly  he  passes  out  of  the  shrine,  out 
of  the  temple-gate,  away  from  the  town,  and  speeds  east- 
ward toward  the  sea.  His  diamonds  are  hidden  in  the 
cummerbund  wrapped  about  his  waist. 


- y ■ 

" • • ' ' 4 •' 


' 


' 

■ 


- 


■ .. 


• . ,'>  ...X  , 

' • - ’ V'  ' *■'  ' ' ' • •'  ' 


Y. 

KRISHNA-PUNT  believes  that  lie 
lias  gained  the  object  of  liis  desires; 
but  he  is  not  now  a happy  man.  The 
terrors  that  haunt  the  wicked  goad  him 
and  hurry  him  onward.  ISTow  he  has 
reached  the  Sonderbunds,  the  doleful 
region  of  jungly  swamps,  streams  and  islands,  where  the 
Ganges  enters  the  bay  of  Bengal.  He  is  safe  here  from 
man,  but  other  perils  meet  him.  The  Sonderbunds  swarm 
with  fierce  beasts  and  venomous  reptiles. 

As  Ram  Krishna-punt  treads  warily  beside  a stream 
the  cold  eye  of  the  scaly  crocodile  is  upon  him.  To 
escape  this  danger  he  turns  into  the  reeds.  Here  the 

4 33 


RAM  KRIS II NA-PU NT. 


excited  chattering  of  the  birds  in  the  air  above  him 
causes  him  to  turn.  Then,  glaring  upon  him  through  the 
bamboos,  crouched  and  ready  to  spring,  is  a Bengal  tiger, 
fiercest  and  most  blood-thirsty  of  the  denizens  of  the 
jungle.  With  hair  standing  on  end  the  affrighted  youth 
flies,  and,  escaping  the  savage  beast,  seeks  again  the 
habitations  of  men. 

Emerging  from  the  jungles  of  the  Sonderbunds,  Earn 
Krishna-punt  sits  down  at  the  foot  of  a margosa-tree  to 
console  himself  for  his  troubles  by  feasting  his  eyes  upon 
his  diamonds  of  price  unknown.  Slowly  does  he  unwrap 
his  cummerbund,  where  he  had  hidden  his  jewels.  He 
brings  them  forth  with  eager  look,  but — oh!  horror  of 
horrors!  he  has  no  diamonds  there!  His  treasures  are 
but  two  pieces  of  cut  glass! 

In  a moment  he  understands  it  all;  sees  that  he  has 
sinned  for  naught.  Filled  with  anguish  he  dashes  the 
worthless  glass  beads  from  him;  he  tears  his  hair  and 
' beats  his  breast;  he  casts  himself  upon  the  earth.  The 

34 


RAM  KRIS  II NA- PUNT. 


crafty  Brahmin  had  been  beforehand  with  our  boy;  he 
had  taken  the  diamonds,  sold  them,  and  jmt  glass  eyes 
in  their  place. 

Now  was  poor  Ram  Krishna-punt  humbled  indeed. 
After  all  his  sins  he  was  a ruined,  homeless,  friendless 
outcast.  Nay,  he  had  lost  his  gods;  for  what  faith  could 
he  have  in  the  senseless  idols  that  could  not  so  much  as 
save  their  own  eyes  from  the  hands  of  man?  He  thought 
over  his  life  and  was  full  of  wretchedness.  Dark  as  was 
his  soul  he  could  not  but  be  conscious  of  his  wickedness. 
His  lies,  ingratitude,  uncleanness,  thefts  arose  before  him. 
The  past  was  a sad  picture  to  look  upon ; the  future  had 
no  light  in  it  for  him.  Poor  Ram  Krishna-punt!  thine 
is  a dark  path ! Whence  can  light  appear  for  thee  ? 

But  hunger  compelled  him  to  rise  and  search  for  some 
dwelling-place  of  man  where  he  might  obtain  relief.  For 
days  he  had  eaten  little  save  wild  guavas  and  bananas, 
and  now  even  these  he  could  not  procure.  He  wandered 

35 


RAM  KRIS II N A-PU NT. 


on  until  he  reached  a village.  Here  he  stopped  before  a 
neat  thatched  cottage.  The  man  of  the  house  sat  upon 
a mat  on  its  little  verandah.  With  low  salaams  Earn 
Krishna-punt  besought  him  to  give  food  to  a starving 
wanderer.  Want  made  him  reckless  of  caste  rules.  Life 
was  more  than  caste  now. 

With  a look  and  tone  of  kindness  that  filled  the  poor 
youth  with  wonder,  the  villager  asked  him  whence  he 
came.  It  was  not  difficult  for  one  trained  in  deceit  to 
frame  a fair  story  to  account  for  his  wretched  condition. 
Moved  with  pity,  the  villager  did  not  press  with  questions 
the  hungry,  foot-sore  suppliant.  Calling  his  little  son,  he 
bade  him  bring  water  and  pour  upon  the  hands  and  feet 
of  his  guest;  and  summoning  his  wife  directed  her  to 
prepare  food  for  the  hungry  pilgrim.  Then  he  bade  the 
stranger  sit  upon  the  mat  beside  him  and  rest  his  weary 
limbs. 

In  every  word  that  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  villager,  the 
accountant  Marnicam,  for  such  he  was,  there  breathed  a 

36 


RAM  KRISIINA-PUNT. 


spirit  of  love  that  was  new  and  strange  to  Ram  Krisbna- 
punt.  His  eyes  followed  the  good  man  with  wonder  and 
with  awe,  for  lie  felt  that  here  was  such  an  one  as  he  had 
not  known  before.  And  well  might  the  poor  heathen 
youth,  bred  in  idolatry,  gaze  and  listen.  Now,  for  the 
first  time,  his  eyes  beheld  one  filled  with  the  spirit  of 
Christ,  and  his  ears  heard  a voice  attuned  by  Christian 
love.  This  was  a Christian  village,  and  Marnicam  was  a 
Christian  man. 

Years  before,  missionaries  from  a far  distant  land  had 
passed  through  the  villages  preaching  to  the  people  that 
they  should  turn  from  their  vain  idols  to  the  worship  of 
the  living  God.  Curiosity  to  hear  a pale-faced  foreigner 
speak  their  own  language  first  led  them  to  listen  to  the 
words  of  the  missionary.  But  as  these  words  were  spoken 
to  them  from  time  to  time,  the  folly  of  idolatry  became  . 
plain  to  them.  Together  the  villagers  discussed  the  ques- 
tion, and  at  last  they  resolved  to  turn  out  the  ugly  gods 
they  had  worshiped,  to  hand  over  to  the  padre  the  temple, 

37 


RAM  KRIS  1 1 A A-PU  NT. 


and  to  ask  liim  to  become  tlieir  gooroo , (their  religious 
guide.) 

Led  by  Marnicam,  the  head  men  of  the  village  went  to 
the  missionary  and  made  known  their  errand.  Gladly 
were  they  received.  Marnicam  was  installed  as  teacher 
of  the  school,  and  each  Sabbath  the  missionary  came  to 
preach  and  to  catechise  the  little  ones.  The  Spirit  of 
God  entered  their  hearts,  and  idolatry  gave  place  to  the 
religion  of  Jesus  Christ. 

It  was  to  this  village  that  Earn  Krislma-punt  had 
found  his  way,  and  it  was  the  love  of  Christ  in  the  heart 
that  distilled  in  tones  of  love  from  the  lips  of  the  Christian 
Hindoo,  Marnicam. 


33 


VI. 

EN  years  have  rolled  by.  Where  now  is 
Ram  Krislina-pnnt? 

Behold  his  home!  Upon  the  skirts 
of  a little  grove  of  cocoannt-trees,  with 
their  glittering,  rustling  leaves,  stands 
his  cottage.  Its  walls  are  neatly  finished 
with  chunam,  the  brilliant  plaster  of  India,  and  its  roof 
is  covered  with  tiles  of  well-burnt  red  clay.  In  the  door- 
way stands  Nittiana,  the  daughter  of  Marnicam,  mistress 
of  the  little  house,  with  her  pet  boy,  Isha-das,  in  her 
arms.  On  the  mat  is  seated  the  young  Visuvasen,  spell- 
ing out  a lesson  in  his  gospel  story,  whilst  his  father,  the 
Christian  catechist,  Ram  Krishna-punt,  looks  on  with 
happy  contentment. 


39 


RAM  KRISHNA-PUNT. 


Yes,  his  wanderings  are  ended.  The  poor  pilgrim,  long 
tossed  on  the  waves  of  a sinful  life,  has  found  a resting- 
place  in  the  love  and  service  of  the  true  God.  To  him 
old  things  are  passed  away;  all  things  have  become  new. 

Is  it  strange  that,  knowing  as  he  did  the  vileness,  the 
lies,  the  deceit,  the  cruelty  of  idolatry,  Earn  Krishna-punt 
was  ready  to  listen  with  open  ears  to  the  teachings  of  the 
good  Marnicam?  Is  it  strange  that  he  cast  away  those 
false  gods  and  bowed  to  the  Creator  of  all  things?  And 
is  it  strange  that  when  he  himself  had  become  a teacher 
of  the  truth,  the  good  Marnicam  gave  him  the  sprightly 
Mttiana  in  marriage,  and  that  now  we  find  a happy 
Christian  home  in  the  midst  of  a dark,  sad,  sinful  land? 

God  grant  that  soon,  very  soon,  there  may  be  many 
such  homes  in  India.  Yes,  and  may  God  give  us  grace, 
who  have  the  light,  to  send  it  and  bear  it  to  those  who  sit 
in  darkness. 


40 


. 


. 

. 


' 


